Going Nowhere Fast
by Colton Alexander
Summary: This story centers around Ashley and Spencer, but in a slightly different way. What would happen if Ashley hadn't miscarried and had kept the child that she and Aiden created together? And how does meeting Spencer tie into the mix? Read to find out!
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

"Why can't you get her father to watch her?" my mother suggests, as I'm once again trying frantically to make my way out the door in time. I'm rushing around the kitchen, putting Gerber snacks into a container, and making a lunch for my daughter before I have to drop her off at daycare. Every morning consists of the same level of chaos, no thanks to the aforementioned Aiden Dennison – whom my mother always simply refers to as "her father". Thankfully, my mother is making sure my daughter is being cleaned up from breakfast and is willing to put her on the potty while I'm running around like a chicken with my head cut off.

"Mom, you know perfectly well that Aiden still has school, just like I do!" I reply. Under my breath, I mutter, "wouldn't want to mess up someone's precious basketball career, after all," and notice that my voice is filled with sarcastic undertones. I'll be the first one to admit that I told Aiden that he didn't need to be of any help to me or our daughter from the moment we got pregnant, but he managed to stick around – at least for the pregnancy. Now I'm lucky that I'm even receiving child support and her yearly essentials – a birthday card and presents, an infrequent visit every now and then, and the few emergency packs of pull-ups that I have managed to beg out of him. Don't get me wrong, we made this baby together during freshman year and I don't expect him to do everything for her – but still, it would be nice if he could do something every once in a while.

"You're going to run yourself ragged," my mother insists. I stop for a moment and take a look at myself in the hallway mirror. I'm going to? It appears as though I already have. Between caring for my daughter and going to school full time, not to mention working full time, I barely feel as though I have enough time to do anything, let alone anything fun. But that's the price I pay for choosing to keep my daughter.

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You're probably wondering how it happened. Well, Aiden and I had been going out for awhile, and one night the stereotypical passion overtook both of us, and we ended up having sex. He was gentle, and sweet, and it was amazing, to say the least. But all of that changed once we'd realized that the condom broke. I could kick myself now, but I distinctly remember him even asking if I wanted to take the morning after pill the next day, but I politely refused, certain that my birth control pill would back me up. And guess what – I was wrong.

Aiden was the first person - that I'd ever slept with, and it managed to happen on the first try – so despite all of those popular myths – yes, you can get pregnant the first time. Our parents were pissed. Aiden's were obviously upset that we had just ruined his opportunity at a basketball career (he was a freshman, and the scouts were already out stalking him) and my mother was angry that I had ruined her life – which basically meant that she was more afraid of what people would say about her, since I made it look like she was the type of mother who "allowed" her daughter to demonstrate such reckless behavior. Aiden's parents were advocating for an abortion, offering to pay for it, and my mother was on the other side of the fence, petitioning for adoption – "think of all the nice young couples out there who are unable to have a baby of their own, Ashley". But in the end, I was the one who made the final decision – I was the one who won – and the prize ended up being my beautiful daughter, Sara. I tend to miss out on a lot of the "typical" things that high-schoolers like to do, but then again, I've never really ever been what most would consider to be "typical". But I will never regret my decision that I made about giving birth to my daughter and keeping her. Many adults that I run into on the streets always glance over at me and shoot me a look of pity or remorse, or will be gossiping with their other friends, referring to Sara as "an accident" or "a mistake". But I am her mother, and I will never see it that way.

You see, to me, Sara is a miracle. I had a lot of complications with my teenage pregnancy, which eventually resulted in me being on bed rest for the last two months. My teachers sent my assignments and final exams home to me, and I completed them in between reading what I lovingly refer to as "my baby bible" – most of you are more familiar with the actual title – "What to Expect When You're Expecting". By the time I was 7 months along, I had smoked and drank for the first month, not knowing I was pregnant (typical reckless teenage behavior) and then later started spotting, and even managed to get into a car accident with my father (it figures, one of the few times a year I actually get to see him – he passed away, and somehow Sara and I had managed to survive) Against all odds, on delivery day, after 13 hours of labor, my daughter Sara came out with the right number of everything (fingers, toes, limbs, etc) and she also managed to score a perfect rating on the Apgar scale. I had spent months worrying about how my behavior at the beginning of the pregnancy and the car accident would affect her, but even today, she seems to be progressing at an above-average rate – and I couldn't be more proud.

But I digress.

************************************************** ***************************

Anyways, now I'm driving (okay, speeding) down a busy street in Los Angeles, California – trying to get my daughter to her daycare center in time. My mother and I both have obligations during the day (I have school, and she has work). She picks Sara up and helps watch her while I go to work before coming home to do homework until approximately 2 in the morning. All of the sudden, I hear and see the police sirens come up behind me.

"Shit!" I announce under my breath, but my daughter still manages to hear me as I pull over to the side of the road. "What's shit?" Sara asks from her car seat in the back, but I'm so pissed that all I can do is grit my teeth and ignore her as I roll down my window as the cop approaches my vehicle.

"Are you aware that you were driving 60 miles per hour in a 45 mile per hour speed limit zone?" the officer asks. His breath is tainted with the smell of doughnuts, and he's coming way too close for comfort – especially with my daughter in the car.

"I'm sorry," I fake-sputter, and then realize to my surprise that I'm actually about to lose it for real. "I'm just trying to get my daughter to daycare so I can go to school, and then work and…" my voice starts to crack. "I didn't mean to…" The officer's face softens a bit, and glances at my daughter in the backseat. "Hi!" she chirps. The officer chuckles to himself a bit before turning his attention back to me.

"Listen, I'm going to let you off with a warning this time," he decides, much to my relief. I wouldn't have been able to afford to pay for any sort of ticket that he would've given me. "I understand how stressful things can be. But please drive carefully – especially for your daughter's safety," he adds. But his eyes are staring straight at me.

"Oh I will….I promise!" I assure him. Suddenly, it doesn't even matter to me that he has been up in my face for the past few minutes. If he wasn't a stranger, I would've probably hugged him. But I've been working on the whole "Stranger Danger" concept with Sara, and I don't want to mess any of that up.

He lets me leave, so I pull carefully back into traffic, and get my daughter to her daycare facility. I'm in the process of dropping her and all of her things off when I realize that I've managed to forget her packed bag at home on the kitchen table. It figures. Why does this surprise me so much, though? I mean, seriously – it's like, the story of my life.

"I'm sure we can find some spare things for Sara to use today," her teacher tries her best to comfort me, because she knows how hard I have been trying, but I still feel like a horrible mother at the same time. A good mother wouldn't have forgotten her daughter's things at home. A good mother would be on top of things – not losing it, and not getting pulled over by the police for speeding.

"Thanks," I reply with embarrassment. I bend down to give Sara a kiss and then stand up to leave. "Bye sweetie, I love you!" I'm waving as I slowly make my way towards the door, bracing myself for what may or may not happen.

Just my luck. Today, it happens. I brace myself as I notice her lower lip start to tremble. She bites it for a moment as tears fill her eyes. "Mommy?" she asks, with a tone of uncertainty.

"Grandma's picking you up," I try to tell her helpfully. "Maybe she'll let you bake cookies again. Won't that be fun?"

"I don't want Grandma – I want you!" she says, and this is when the sniffles start. Her little nose is already impossibly clogged up.

"Shh, shh…" I say, wrapping her into a bear hug. I know that this too, is my fault. I've been working extra shifts because I know that Christmas will be here soon, and I need the extra cash. Sara's too young to understand that even when I'm spending so much time away from her, I'm still doing things for her. My whole life is devoted to her. When she's older, I hope that she'll grow up to appreciate that. "Mommy has to go to school and work today," I tell her. "I'll be home to tuck you in, I promise." As I'm quietly soothing my daughter, I want to kick myself for wanting to glance at my watch.

"Can we read a bedtime story?" she asks, still sniffling a bit.

"Any book you want, sweetheart," I assure her. "Make sure you have it picked out for when I come home," I tell her.

"Okay," she replies, wiping the last few tears from her face. I am silently congratulating her on not going into one of her full-blown tantrums that could wake the dead. "I love you."

"I love you too," I say, and she goes toddling off with some of her friends that she's made at school. I watch for a moment behind the closed door as my daughter and two other little girls make their way to the "learning carpet" and then I start back to my car.

And that's when I notice it.

"Shit!" I yell out loud this time, because my daughter is not in my presence. "Fuck, fuck, fuck! Arrgh!" I step back, kick the deflating tire, and instantly regret it. Now my whole foot is throbbing, and I've probably broken my toe. It starts to feel numb and turn colors almost immediately.

"Last time I checked, that's not the way to fix a flat tire," someone remarked from behind me. I spun around, ready to give a piece of my mind to whoever was making jokes about my already horribly bad morning.

One of the fathers had just dropped his child off at the daycare and happened to be parked next to me in the lot. "I know," I sighed, as the fight instantly went out of me. "It's just been a bad day.

"I hear you," he replied sympathetically. "Listen, do you have a spare in the trunk? I could help you change it."

"I know how to change a tire, I just didn't want to have to do it right now!" I shot back, instantly regretting it. This man had done nothing to ruin my day, and I was being such a bitch to him. "Sorry," I offered weakly.

"Suit yourself," he said in a tone that clearly indicated he wasn't going to bother helping me now, or anytime soon. "Have a great day." And with that, he got into his car and sped off, and I groaned in disbelief and bent down to fix my tire.

************************************************** ***************************

Satisfied with the job that I've done, I get into my car and drive like a maniac to King High School. It's my first day of senior year, and I've already missed homeroom. In fact, I've missed the first 15 minutes of 1st period as well. I open my car door and retrieve my notebooks and my lukewarm coffee, and slam the door shut without instantly realizing that I've locked my keys inside. It will have to wait until after school, which means that I'm going to be late for my job.

Trying to put the unwelcoming idea of more disasters, I rush into the school, realizing that I have to use a different door in order to be allowed into the building now – which means I've paraded around practically the entire outside of the school. I finally make my way into school, rushing down the hallway to my locker when someone collides with me.

"Hey!" I yell as my precious lukewarm coffee and my notebooks fall to the floor, the pens spilling out of their spirals. "Watch where you're going, will you?"

The poor girl that I've managed to knock down looks frightened, and I instantly regret being so rude. But there's no filter on me when I'm angry – unfortunately for her. "I'm sorry..." she stutters. "I didn't mean to…"

"Well you did it anyways," I snapped, finally gathering all of my things up off of the floor and managing to open my locker. "And look – my outfit's ruined!" I glance down hopelessly at my saturated T-shirt, realizing that I've forgotten to put on a bra this morning. I can hardly wait for all of the cracks to start being made about wet T-shirt contests. "These were expensive, you know."

"I…I can pay to have them dry-cleaned," the girl stammers, looking entirely more sorry than she needs to be. "I'm new here, I was just trying to find my locker, and…"

"Tell it to someone who cares," I interrupt, putting my hand up to signal her to silence. I stomp off towards the attendance office so that I can get a late pass. This is not how I wanted to start my senior year – at all.

************************************************** ***************************

I walk to my first period class with the tardy slip in my hand, and the teacher just shakes his head and shoots me a look of pure disappointment. "Glad to see we're starting the year off on the right foot, Ashley Davies," he remarks as I slide into my seat – the only empty desk left in the classroom, and try to become invisible. I may act all rough and tough at times, but I do actually have feelings on the inside – somewhere deep down.

Just as he finishes bawling me out in front of everyone who is now staring at me with various levels of smirks on their faces, the classroom door opens once more. This time it's the principal and that new girl that I ran over in the hallway earlier. Shit, she's in this class?!

"Class, I'd like you to meet Spencer Carlin," the principal announces in his deep, authoritative voice. The girl standing next to him has her head down towards the floor. She doesn't like being the center of attention.

"Why don't you tell us a little bit about yourself?" my teacher asks.

"I'm from Ohio?" Spencer offers lamely, glancing up to see if that was enough information.

"Yes, well welcome to our class," he says as the principal turns and leaves our room. "We don't have any free desks right now, but I can assure you that by tomorrow, we will find you one."

"No problem," Spencer replies. She scans the room for a second, and I wonder what is going through her mind. She must be so nervous. I would be, if I was the new kid. I would be, if I managed to locate the person who bitched me out earlier.

After a brief moment, her eyes lock with mine, and she smiles triumphantly. "No problem," she tells our math teacher. "I think I'll just take a seat right here." And the next thing I know, she's planted herself awkwardly on my lap, because the bulky desk doesn't leave much room.

"Spencer Carlin!" our teacher remarks, looking shocked and appalled at the amount of spunk the new student actually has. He is about to say something else, but the bell rings, interrupting his thoughts.

I'm resisting the urge to push her off of me because I'm aggravated.

"Thanks," she whispers to me as she slides off of my lap and goes up to the front of the room for her textbook and the first homework assignment. I stay behind in my seat and wait for it to be my turn.

As I'm sitting there, I feel a spark of adrenaline rush through me. I smile to myself. This girl might be promising after all. She's got guts. And I've instantly got a crush.

Oh…did I forget to mention that I'm bisexual?


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

My mother refers to my bisexuality as "disgusting", "unnatural", and any other negative term you could possibly think to use. I, on the other hand, have spent years trying to convince my mother that being bisexual does not mean that you "sleep with anyone you meet," it just simply means that you like people for their personality and the way that they treat you instead of for the parts that they come equipped with. It's been 3 years, and it still hasn't registered with her. She refuses to read the book written by Betty DeGeneres that I've strategically placed on her bedside table. She doesn't want to make the effort to understand. I'm tolerated in my household, but by no means am I truly "accepted", "supported", or "understood". She went through this phase of trying to get me to go out on dates with lots of boys and that's pretty much how I ended up with Aiden in the first place. Whenever I'm feeling spiteful enough to bring this up, she will retort with "I told you to go out on a date with him, not to sleep with him." She refuses to discuss the concept of bisexuality with me, and that's pretty much it. The only reasons that she probably still talks to me are that she wants to be able to be a part of her granddaughter's life and because I've been way too busy with life right now to squeeze in any sort of a relationship – male or female. I know that people who are straight have an easier life – I'm not blind. Everyone should be treated equally in America, but we're just not. And you just can't help who you fall in love with.

************************************************** ***************************

As I walk towards my second period class, it feels as though I'm walking on air. Right before I'm about to turn into the doorway of Spanish, I realize that the blonde head in front of me is Spencer's – and that she's in this class with me as well. We've gotten there in a reasonable amount of time, and there are multiple seats left scattered throughout the classroom.

"Guess you'll be able to find your own seat this time," I remark, and this time, my words don't come across as snarky or rude. They come out as flirtatious. Oh my God, you have no idea how long it's been since I've actually tried to flirt with someone.

"That's fine," Spencer replied with a smile. She noticed a seat behind me and smiled to herself. "So was that your evil twin sister that I met in the hallway earlier, or…"

"Yeah, I'm really sorry about that," I replied. I meant it, too. I was trying to act as sincere as possible so that she would know my feelings of remorse were genuine. "It's just been a really bad day so far, and it's not even 9:00 yet."

"Well what do you say we try starting over again, then?" she asked, extending her hand forward. "Me llamao Spencer."

"Me llamao Ashley," I replied with a smile. I was starting to feel giddy. Where was my head today? Usually it took a lot more than this to get me hooked on someone.

"So Ashley, what's wrong?" Spencer asked. I must have looked confused, because she had to prompt me. It was as though my brain and the rest of my insides had been turned to mush. "Your bad morning," she said.

"I got pulled over for speeding, then when I made my first stop on my way here, I come to find out that I have a flat tire. It made me late for school. Oh, and on my way into the building, I realized that I locked my keys in my car. So I'm not sure how I'm getting to my job after school."

"Ouch," Spencer said, shooting me a sympathetic look. "Well, I can drop you off at work after school. Just try not to get yourself into anymore trouble and wind up in detention."

"Ha-ha," I said sarcastically. "Like my day could get any worse."

"Seriously. Just be outside the front of the building when the final bell rings. I have to be back by 5 though."

"Don't tell me you're one of those "club types"? I asked, using air quotes.

"I'm trying out for the cheerleading squad," she said with a laugh. "My mom thinks that I will get a lot of school spirit from joining something here at my new school."

"Oh…and what will you really be getting out of it?" I asked, a smirk coming across my face. I'd forgotten how much fun it was to flirt.

"Soaked panties," she replied with a wink. "Have you seen those cheerleading uniforms?"

"Yes, but then I remember the nasty attitudes that are commonly attached to them," I counter.

"Gee, thanks!" she says, looking a little hurt. I can't tell if she's faking or not. I need to get to know her better in order to read her facial expressions.

And with that, the teacher decides that it is time to start taking attendance. The bell has rung. I have to turn around in my seat and face the front of the classroom. When another 40 minutes are over, I thank God that my teacher is not one who speaks in a foreign language for the entire period, and bustle out of the room with another textbook, and another homework assignment.

"I have Science next," she announces to me as we walk out through the doorway together.

"Jesus, are you sure you're not stalking me?" I ask playfully. "Let me see your schedule."

Reluctantly, she hands it to me. She must be terrified that I'm going to rip it into pieces or something. Just to prove her wrong, I take out my own schedule and match it up with hers. "You're right, science in room 133 next. And then we both have…" my voice trails off as I scan the remainder of her schedule.

"They're exactly the same," I say in disbelief. I'm not sure if this is going to work out in my favor or not. Spencer leans in, just to double-check.

"Well alright then," she announces, taking back her schedule and linking arms with me as we walk down the hallway together to our next class. "Hooray for errors in the computer system!" And then she winks.

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At the end of the day, we're both loaded down with textbooks, workbooks, and notebooks that we need to try and cram into our backpacks so that we can go home. As it turns out, her locker is also near mine, so we wind up walking out of the school building together.

"Hey, I know I said I'd drive you to work, but I think I've got a better idea," Spencer revealed as we walked in the direction of my vehicle instead of her own. Before I could even ask what was happening, she pulled the bobby pin out of her hair and inserted it into the spot where the key is originally supposed to go. I stood back, glancing longingly at the set of keys that were visible on the back seat. And then, in the distance, I heard a soft "click" sound.

"How did you?!..." I managed, not being able to complete my original sentence that came to mind. "You just…"

"Don't ever piss me off," she responded with a smirk.

"Thank you!" I exclaimed happily, as she opened up the door and gave me back my set of keys.

"Don't mention it. "But remember, I have cheerleading practice, so don't lock them in your car at work!"

"I'll try!" I said. I waved at Spencer after I got into my car, turning on the headlights and blasting the stereo. Being careful not to run over anyone (that really would add to my list of disasters for the day) I drove out of the parking lot and towards the direction of my workplace.

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I spend my time from 4:30 to 7:30, Monday through Friday, working in a learning center, tutoring younger students who need help in various different types of subjects. Sometimes no children come in for extra help. On those days, I consider myself extremely lucky, because then I can work on my own homework until one of my charges shows up. Today just happens to be one of those days. Maybe things are finally starting to look up.

Because no one shows up, I make use of the three free hours that I have. I work on my math assignment, and I have to read the chapter and work on a couple of different types of example problems first because I've missed the first class and need to teach the material to myself. I move onto Spanish next, using my English-to-Spanish dictionary in order to find the names of various different household items in Spanish, since they've been provided in English. I read and take notes on the first chapter of my science textbook and define the vocabulary words and answer the questions that go along with the chapter. By the time the center is ready to close for the evening, I've just got English and Social Studies left. But they'll have to wait.

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Because once I'm home, it's time for me to resume my role as a mommy. My mother welcomes me home, and the retreats to her room, leaving me with Sara, who has been fed but still needs to be showered and read to before bedtime.

"I was dry all day!" is how Sara greets me excitedly as I step through the doorway to my mother's home. "No askidents!" I chuckle quietly to myself. I know that as her mother, I should encourage her to use proper words, but sometimes it's just so cute – even when she messes them up.

"That's great, honey!" I respond enthusiastically, praising my daughter so that she will hopefully be able to make it happen again tomorrow. I wrap her in a big hug and give her about twenty million kisses before I put her down. But when I do, she runs to her bedroom and grabs "The Very Hungry Caterpillar", which just happens to be my favorite from when I was a child. "I found a book!"

"We'll read it right after you have your bath," I promise her, trying to suppress a smile as Sara groans. She goes to sleep pretty easily for me every night, although bath time is not one of her favorite activities. "Go and find Mr. Duck."

Mr. Duck is a yellow rubber squeaky toy who Sara claims needs to take a bath with her every night. I hear her little footsteps roaming around the house as I begin to fill the bathtub. After much complaining about soap being in her eyes, and the water either being too hot or too cold, my little munchkin is in her Disney princess nightgown and ready to climb into bed – with a pull-up, of course – just in case.

Sara rests her head against the pillows as I read the familiar story of "The Very Hungry Caterpillar" to her. I'm not sure what it is about children wanting to have the same books read over and over again to them, but I don't mind – especially with this story. It soothes me, in a weird sort of way – probably because I grew up reading it as well. By the end of the story, my daughter's eyes are slowly getting droopy, and she tells me goodnight in a sleepy voice. I tell her I love her and turn off her bedroom light. After humoring her by checking for monsters both under her bed and from inside the closet, I make sure that the nightlight is working, and leave her bedroom door open a crack – just in case she needs me.

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It's 8:30 now, and I decide to work on my English homework first. We're starting out the school year by reading "Hamlet", another one of Shakespeare's famous plays that nobody understands because it's not written in modern English like most other books. Our job is to translate the first scene of the first act and put it into modern-day wording. For the next hour, I go back and forth between my book in my lap and a Microsoft Word document that has been opened on my laptop.

9:30, and it's time for Social Studies. I read the first chapter, outlining with notes, and answering the questions at the end. By the time 10:30 rolls around, I'm surprised to find that I'm not that tired yet. It must be all those nights that I normally spend up to 2:00 in the morning.

I'm feeling restless, so I go into the kitchen to get a jump-start on tomorrow. I finish washing the dishes that my mother and daughter and I have all left in the sink. I toss out the food from the bag that I'd planned to send with Sara that morning, and make a new lunch and prepare new snack containers for her. I replace old juice boxes with new ones. She hasn't had any accidents, so her spare set of clothing can stay right where it is, along with the unused pull-ups.

By the time I'm done with everything in the kitchen, it's 11:00 at night, and I'm starting to get tired. A few extra hours of sleep might do me some good, and maybe I'll be in a better mood tomorrow. I have to be up at 6 o'clock, same as always – like clockwork. But tonight, I go to sleep with a smile on my face because just as I am drifting off the sleep, visions of the new girl at school flood my mind.

I settle down with the full intention of just simply going to bed, but instead, I feel my hand start to drift down under my drawstring pajama pants, my fingers slowly finding their way into the folds of my vagina. Visions of Spencer sitting on my lap, pushing back her hair, and flashing her bright smile at me all burst into my mind as I climax, moaning her name softly into the darkness.

When I finish, I am out of breath. It has been a long time since I've been able to do anything for myself lately, and there's a lot of pent up tension that has been going unanswered. I let myself go over the edge two more times before finally passing out into a blissful sleep that is filled with dreams of Spencer. I just know that tomorrow will be a good day.


End file.
